Face Value
by IllicitFaction
Summary: Iceland is passing the time at a bookstore in his capital, when he gets an unexpected visitor. A visitor who has been on his mind a little more than he'd like to admit. DenIce; fluff; 4 chapters
1. Chapter 1

**Hello! If you're here, then I'm going to assume that you either ship DenIce or have an interest in it. For some reason I've been musing about it for a while. I finally decided to write a story with it, so here's the first chapter. If you like this pairing, feel free to leave me a message somewhere about it! I doubt I'll find fellow DenIce shippers easily any other way :/ I'm not sure how many chapters this is going to have, probably around 3. Heh, my stories are really short without actual plot- just a ton of fluff shoved in. Oops...**

**The bookstore mentioned in here is not real, and I apologize for any inaccurate Iceland information- I'll tell you now that I got whatever I didn't know off of Google.**

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The scent of coffee from the bookstore's café wafted over to the nostrils of a violet-eyed boy perusing the extensive maple wood bookcase, where upon it's shelves rested dated text containing fables upon fables of ancient mythology. The man's slender fingers ran over the pristine edges of the compilations, feeling the decorative bumps and crevices that were embedded on the hardback covers. He paused at one with a smooth maroon binding, golden vines and leaves intertwining to form a border around the title that read, '.Yggdrasil's Insight- An Introduction to the Nine Worlds", in a loopy font, running up the side of the encyclopedia-like reference book.

What could he say; Iceland was in a nostalgic mood. He was on the way back from yet another day of discussing what he thought was a pointless debate over different ways to increase their fishing industry income, which was steadily declining. The other members of the meeting creatively threw around ideas involving the cod and blue whiting fish, both of which were their main catches.

Returning to his home, he happened to be glancing out of his right window when his eyes caught on a particular store that stood out before the smaller shops that were scattered around it.

It was one of the largest bookstores in the whole capital- it's three stories was not an unusual sight in the city, but the exterior of the building gave off a grandeur aura. A maroon finish cleanly wrapped around it, shiny black windowpanes accenting the glass that reflected the evening sunset quite nicely. There were two stone figures of some type of mythical creature from Norse mythology- he couldn't really examine it too well, as he was still in the car- that proudly stood guard, frozen in their noble positions right outside the tall doors of the store.

'_Why not.'_ he figured as he audibly sighed, steering the smoky grey BMW into a parking spot along the side of the street. The door swung out as he pulled the lever inside the cab, and he stepped out in his trademark white boots. His deep blue hued jeans were tucked inside of them, a white collared shirt underneath his navy blue blazer. He heard the double-beep as he pushed the lock button on his keys, and then placed them safely in one of his front pockets.

He decided that just browsing a few choice sections of the expansive bookstore would do for today, which brought him to the section about the legends of the world. He had seated himself in a conveniently placed armchair which was right around the corner. The dim lighting that surrounded the nook created a quiet ambiance that was quite befitting to the phrase 'do not disturb'. An antique floor lamp provided just enough light for one to discern the text from the page, while still maintaining the somber air of the area.

Iceland heard the 'crack' of the book, signifying its fresh condition. His eyes momentarily blinked shut as he lightly inhaled the scent of the pages. The unique whiff was one similar to that which reminded the nation of his younger years when Norway would tuck him into bed. The older boy would read to him some of the fairytales he would pull up from books, both of them snuggled up warmly and content in the cozy bed. The soothing voice combined with the vivid images that would develop in his youthful and imaginative mind as the story progressed were what made the child feel secure and at rest. Even though it wasn't until much later that they found out they were blood related, there had always been a special bond between the two. They were always siblings at heart. Which reminded him…

Iceland couldn't help but roll his eyes as an image of a smiling Denmark popped into his head. There was Norway- the observant brother who would make snide remarks at things, but always the responsible one and accessible 24/7 to the silver-haired boy if he ever needed his bror's help. Then there was Denmark.

He was an obnoxious man who enjoyed drinking and talking. He would be late to nearly every meeting they were required to attend, with his reasoning for it being somewhere along the lines of, "But you wouldn't believe it! It was way too cool of an opportunity to pass up.", usually referring to a frivolous distraction like a statue that piqued his interest, or a bed of vibrant flowers just blooming into season; once, it was because a street vendor claimed to sell, "the best fish and chips in Britain", while they were in England for a world meeting, and there was _no way_ that the Dane could miss tasting that.

Occasionally, he would drunk-text the nation. He didn't know if what he would type was his actual thoughts and feelings, or if they were just created while he was in his inebriated stupor. It would usually result in the younger country inadvertently blushing, and attempting to scold Denmark over text about saying things like, "I miss you Icey.", "I wish you would visit me more often.", or the one that would have him clenching his cell phone painfully in his hand- "I love you Iceland."

The next time they would communicate, it was as it nothing happened. Iceland wouldn't dare to bring up whatever they had discussed before as he already experienced enough awkward social situations with others as it was, and he wasn't sure if Mathias even recalled that they conversed. He also was pretty sure that he himself was over thinking things when it came the texts saying that he "loved" him.

Iceland loved Norway; they were brothers, so that was normal. He loved Finland, Sweden, and Sealand; they were his family too, whom he respected. And he…loved Denmark; they were like brothers, and all of the Nordics were a tight-knit family, despite disputes and political incidents which may have left marks on their relations at some points of their history. So it was okay, nothing weird about it. It was probably the same way around too, as Iceland was his lillebror whom he always enjoyed teasing.

Recently, though, the island country had been mentally conflicted over some feelings pertaining to the headstrong former Viking nation. Feelings which he had tried to deny. He would find his mind wander off to some aspect of him at erratic points of the day, usually one of his quirks that he admittedly (only to himself, of course) found quite adorable. Whereas Norway would've criticized him or made a sarcastic remark, Iceland would be inwardly smiling from his quiet corner of the couch.

He blinked, disoriented, for a few moments. Finally, broken out of yet another one of his reveries, he started considering that maybe now would be a good time to begin the book weighing down his lap.

Just as he reopened the hardcover chocked full of information, he heard a voice that sent a shock directly to his still-as-a-rock core. "I've been standing here the past three minutes while you drooled over that thing like Prussia when he's had three too many shots."

The unexpected visitor chuckled. "I was wondering when you were going to finally open that book." commented Denmark; his amused grin, which gave him that cocky-yet-friendly attitude, going straight to the confused and caught off guard Iceland sitting dumbstruck on the handcrafted leather armchair.


	2. Chapter 2

**The next chapter might be up at the end of today, and if not, then expect it for tomorrow. I'm starting to like this pairing more and more (because it's totally not my #2 pairing at the moment). Thanks much to guest, AsakuraHannah, and Wisely-san for reviewing! I didn't expect for three people to actually review this story, so that was a pleasant surprise :)**

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The Dane strode over to Iceland, who was sitting with one leg propped up across the top of the other. Placing his black leather gloved hands on the tough covering sewn on the armrest, he leaned over his friend. He scrunched up his face to scrutinize the cover of the book, his pupils not yet adjusted to the low lighting. "Norse mythology, huh?" he asked the boy huddled in the corner of the chair, eyebrows quirked upwards.

"I couldn't think of where to start." he replied, which was true. He just decided to peruse the first section he saw that wasn't cluttered with sappy romance novels. Hearing the excited chatter of teenage girls coming from the left as he quietly pulled open the glass door was enough to drive him immediately into the back corner of the store.

Usually Iceland wasn't a very direct person, but seeing as this was an unusual circumstance, he felt the compulsive need to inquire as to why Denmark was standing right in front- well, more like right above- him at this very moment. "Why are you here?" questioned the younger one, a slight scowl on his face. Instead of making him look angry, though, it just rounded out his features and made him look adorable.

His head was angled slightly to the side, combined with a sincere grin. "I haven't seen you in months! Matter of fact, I don't think any of us have." he mused, referring to the other Nordics when he said 'we'. "Don't think you can just hide out here and we'll forget about you." He ruffled Iceland's silky head of hair, leaving it tousled and unruly.

Iceland put a firm hand on his forearm, pushing the limb away from him and giving him a disapproving look.

Denmark laughed loudly, prompting an older-looking employee stocking books nearby to shoot him a nasty glare. He caught the gesture, and then thumbs up'd him in what he considered a form of apology. He turned back to Iceland, who still had the book flipped open to a random page as it lay in his lap, unread.

Picking it up, he flipped to the front. "Let's see here." he began, the rapid flutter of the pages making an indistinct whirr as they passed through his fingers.

He cleared his throat for dramatic effect, and then began to read out of the text. "There are nine worlds believed to exist. They are categorized into three levels- the top level, which is occupied by Asgard, Vanaheim, and Alfheim." He paused, and then set the book down on a nearby table with some magazines. He bent down to Iceland, sliding his hands underneath his lightweight body.

"Don't touch me!" protested the boy, struggling in the smirking man's arms. He didn't have much time to flail around before he was gently set down a little farther down in the wide armchair. Denmark unceremoniously plopped himself down in the vacant spot.

"Now, now, Island. What did bror Norge and I teach you about sharing?" he mock disciplined, taking on a condescending tone. Iceland swatted him on his ribcage with the back of his hand, folding his arms and turning his attention to a rack with paperback classics.

Denmark leaned over to retrieve the book he was reading from previously. "Where was I…" he muttered, fanning through the crisp pages to the one he left off on.

"The second level contained the worlds of Midgard, Jotunheim, Svartalfheim, and Nidavellir. The third was home to Niflheim and Muspelheim." Noticing that Iceland was idly sweeping a finger back and forth against the smooth glossy surface of one of the books on the rack next to him, an obvious giveaway that he wasn't being attentive, Denmark decided to have a little fun.

"So, there were these guys who lived in Asgard. They were both brothers, and their names were Thor and Loki." Subconsciously, Iceland nodded along. "Now, Thor and Loki were both powerful gods. One day, Thor decided that he wanted to hang out and party with some of the Viking Midgardians, so he rode his horse across the rainbow bridge, Bifrost, in order to get there."

Iceland, who was tired due to the lack of his customary caffeinated soda of the day, finally deadpanned as he realized what Denmark was doing.

"He got off of the bridge and fell on to this giant Viking ship, where there were all these really cool guys having a great time on the boat. Then, one really awesome man with a super hot hairstyle gave him a beer, and they partied all night!" At this part, he ran his fingers through his own hair that stood up (not quite as much as the Netherlands, but still somehow managed to achieve what was only thought possible with the assistance of hair gel).

"I'm not entirely sure, but I don't think that's how the tale goes."

"Either way: you pair me with anyone and alcohol and you've got yourself one helluva party." Of that fact, Iceland had no doubt.

Denmark's bored expression as he surveyed the room lasted momentarily. "Let's blow this joint." he suggested, standing up from the couch and grabbing Iceland's hand in the process. The younger one stumbled as the Danish nation practically dragged him through the store.

"Do you even know where you're going?" he asked in an bothered tone.

Marching out the front door, his grip did not lessen as he came to a stop at the edge of the curb. "Sure don't!" he admitted cheerily. "I was gonna ask you if there were any good places to eat around here. Or we could just go to your house and we can cook something together." The mention of food was quite convenient, as it just reminded Iceland that it was around dinner and he didn't have anything planned. Not that he would admit that, of course.

In response, he crossed his arms over his chest and gave him a straight face. "You're just going to invite yourself to my home? Also, what makes you think I want to eat with you?"

"We're going to share dinner together whether you like it or not." stated the Dane firmly. "Also, I took a cab here, so I was hoping to hitch a ride with you." he added as an afterthought.

After pondering the danger level of the activity, he acquiesced. "Fine." he consented. "Just don't mention this to Norway. Or do something to make you even more difficult to deal with like drinking an entire case of beer."

Slinging an arm over Iceland's shoulder he refuted Iceland's 'offensive' claim. "Hey, I know that I may seem dull sometimes, but telling Norway I just decided to pop over to his little brother's house to have dinner with him would probably land me in the hospital for a week." He laughed as the pair began strolling towards the dark car.

"Yeah, yeah, I'll behave." Waving off the warnings, he reached for the sleek silvery-grey handle on the car. The door swung out, and Denmark made a gesture towards the seat with his free hand. "Ladies first." he jested.

Iceland's eyes narrowed in a mixture of embarrassment and annoyance. "Just get in the passenger's seat." fumed the boy, securing himself in the vehicle safely. Smirking, Denmark slid into the seat next to him.

His cheeks still tinged a light shade of vermilion, the driver checked the side mirrors of the sleek car. He steadily backed it out into the street, void of traffic, while the other man fiddled with the stereo. Flipping through a few stations with the black notched knob, he began perusing the different types of songs.

"You have some nice music in your country." he commented, folding his arms behind his head in an all-around relaxed position.

Already knowing the answer to his statement, he asked it anyways. "Let me guess- the only Icelandic band you listen to is Sigur Ros."

"Yup." he confirmed, admiring the brightly colored houses they passed that adorned the streets of Reykjavik. "So, what're we cooking for dinner?"

"Salmon, caramelized potatoes, and rye bread with cream cheese." listed the nation, the ingredients already purchased and at home. Unless, of course, Mr. Puffin managed to sneak some of the salmon out of the fridge, but he doubted that would have happened.

"Luckily for you, the king of the kitchen is at your service." He thrust his thumb at his chest, his posture lifting to match his display of pride. He prized himself in his culinary skills. "I'll take care of the fish."

Iceland gave him a pointed look. "You know as well as I do that I'm the best out of us at cooking fish." Turning back to face the road as they left the central part of the city and headed out to the more isolated parts, he dug a twisted sheet of paper out of one of his jeans pockets. He swept his hand out to the side in order to present it to the curious Dane, casually held between two fingers.

Unfolding the sheet of notebook paper, he scanned through the shopping list with items crossed out and a recipe scribbled in pencil at the bottom. Frowning, he questioned, "Is this all I get to do?"

"I don't want you to mess up my kitchen." rebuked the other, who happened to share the trait for stubbornness with his brother. Somewhat.

If you manipulated the younger nation just right, you could coerce him, to an extent, to loosen up. Denmark already knew what his plans reserved for Iceland's house were going to be. He expected to, as they say, 'kill two birds with one stone'. As he had stated earlier, some people underestimate his level of intellect.

"Oh, gotcha." He nodded his head, the suspicious smile concealed behind his worn hands passing unnoticed. After all: how could anyone not appreciate his wonderful cooking?


	3. Chapter 3

**I had this written earlier, but when I reread it, Iceland seemed OOC, and I fixed it but he might still be, and UGH i'm sorry if this chapter isn't very good ;_; But if you were wondering about the title, I put the reasoning for that in this chapter (in the actual story and up here).**

**According to [idioms . thefreedictionary . com] ~ face value - to accept someone or something just as it appears; to believe that the way things appear.**

**I hope that you like this chapter!**

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Iceland shook off his blazer, and then stood on his toes as he reached for the hook at the top of the coat rack adjacent to the door. The jacket now secured on the vintage metal stand, he bent down to loosen up the weaving of his laces threaded through the pristine, white boots. He soundlessly slipped them off his feet, placing them on the floor mat at the threshold of the door.

Denmark followed behind him, dropping his own black ones carelessly next to Iceland's as he shut the door. The inside of the warmly lit house washed away the chill of the outside air. The tall man unbuttoned his olive trench coat, tossing it over a vacant hook.

He entered the open-spaced kitchen as the quiet silver-haired male searched through the refrigerator. "Do you want to get the oven started?" he asked, taking out two fish filets and a bag of parsley.

"Sure." replied Denmark, sauntering over to the stainless steel oven. "What's the temperature?"

Pulling out jars of various herbs and spices, he wearily set them down on the marble topped island in the center of the kitchen. "190 degrees."

Humming a short tune, he punched the correct numbers into the panel at the top of the oven. "Are you tired? Looks like you need a nap." he playfully noted.

"I wouldn't mind one at the moment." he muttered, hinting that the other's presence was hindering him from taking his evening rest.

"Why don't you just go take one really quickly; I can handle the stuff here." He joined Iceland as the man took out a cookbook and flipped to a page with a recipe for baked salmon. "It shouldn't take me too long."

Pausing for a moment to think about, he finally relented. "I'll just be on the couch." He departed for the entryway that was the connector between the kitchen and living room, and put his hand on the beige wall. Turning his head with a wary look on his face, he gave the Dane a reminder. "No big fires in the kitchen while I'm asleep."

He returned a reassuring smile. "Got it. Save me a spot on the couch, would you?" he suggested with a wink. He received a glower, and Iceland exited the room.

Glancing back down to the cookbook, he quickly scanned the first direction. Picking up the can of non-stick spray that Iceland left behind, he brought the glass baking dish to the sink and coated it with a thin layer of grease. Ripping off two paper towels, he lightly patted the two salmon filets dry and set them down next to each other in the dish. Because his fingers were now sticky from the fish oil, he walked to the sink to rinse them off. As the warm water washed over his worn hands, he let his mind wander.

He had hoped that Iceland would actually let him come over- luckily for him, his plan worked. And now, the younger nation was sleeping on the couch while he was making them dinner. It was all set out for them; he just had to successfully follow through with the evening. Tonight, he would make Iceland realize what he could have, and his feelings for the boy would no longer be restrained to the confines of his wistful mind.

With these hopeful thoughts and a spring in his step, he expertly combined the remaining ingredients laid out on the counter according to the recipe's instructions, and popped the prepared meal into the oven. He proceeded to start the caramelized potatoes, wanting to make this _date_ one that Iceland wouldn't forget.

He quietly crept into the dimly lit living room, the only source of light being a floor lamp in the corner of the tidy space. A brown leather couch was stationed across from the fireplace, which had two ornate gates guarding it. Denmark had always been impressed with the mature décor that was displayed in the house. Rich, deep colors were in every accent, piece of furniture, and basic structure like the walls and hardwood flooring. A large area rug was splayed underneath the long brown leather couch, along with a pair of matching armchairs to accompany it.

A large flat screen TV hung above the fireplace, an intricate speaker system wired at it's base. A show in Icelandic was on, and seeing that the remote to it was resting on Iceland's gently rising and falling chest, he inferred that the nation fell asleep while watching it.

He stealthily lifted it off of his wrinkled shirt, the sleeping boy's hands folded innocently underneath his head. His legs were bent at an odd angle, but he seemed to find it to be a comfortable position. His mouth was open the slightest bit, just enough to for small amount of air he needed. The silver hair was skewed around the top of his head in disarray, a few strands draping over his closed eyes.

Denmark considered taking a picture of the adorable scene, but if he or his brother ever found it stored on his camera… _Bad idea,_ he reasoned, and just decided that he'd capture it mentally. He bent his head down towards the quiescent figure, anchoring a hand to the couch on each side of Iceland. Smirking, he dipped his head down until his face hung right above the pale one in front of him.

"Iceland, dinner's ready." he whispered, hoping to elicit a scared response from the nation when he woke up to Denmark's face hovering in front of his and two arms barricading him.

Instead, he rolled his shoulders and subconsciously uttered a name. "Denmark." he moaned, drawing out his name as he adjusted his sleeping position. An arm reached up to the confused Dane's shoulder, wrapping around his neck. He drew Denmark towards himself on the couch, pulling him on to the open space next to him. Securing both of his arms around the grinning man, he burrowed his head into his chest and yawned.

It was like a child holding on to their stuffed animal in bed. Denmark was not a plush toy though, so naturally, he would react differently. And naturally, being Denmark, it was not in his nature to lie there silently and do nothing.

His eyes lit up, passion flowing from his astonished eyes to his gaping mouth. He rested a hand on Iceland's back, drawing them even closer. Grinning stupidly for a few moments as he just laid there, his attention switched back to the smaller one's face as he muttered, "Den…", tossing once again.

"I'm here." he murmured, stroking Iceland's hair. A small smile made its way on to his face, something he hadn't seen in ages. Denmark nuzzled his nose against Iceland's, causing a buoyant giggle to ring from the smaller boy.

He was in heaven. He had to be.

But of course, every dream must cease at some point, and for him, that point was the kitchen timer. As soon as the shrill buzzer sounded from the kitchen, the smile dropped off of Iceland's face. He slapped a hand over his ear, scrunching up his face in discomfort.

The violet eyed boy yawned widely, half-lidded eyes appearing. He rubbed the sleep out of them with a hand, using the other to push himself to a sitting position. After bumping into Denmark's arm and realizing that there was something there, he looked up questionably to the content man. "What are you doing on my couch?"

"Waking you up." he said slowly, giving him one of his suggestive grins.

"Then get off me." he demanded, beginning to feel uncomfortable in the close proximity.

Denmark laughed, smiling broadly. "But just a few seconds ago you wouldn't let go." he jested. Lowering his head even more, he continued, "You even said my name twice-".

He fell to a heap on the dense floor as Iceland successfully gripped his shirt and pulled him off of the couch. Rubbing his head where it collided with the rug, he saw the boy stomp off to the kitchen. Stifling a chuckle, he pushed himself into a sitting position and followed after him from there.

"This is done, right?" grumbled the still-slightly drowsy male as he opened the oven door.

"Two salmon filets, baked to perfection." he assented, procuring two porcelain plates from a cabinet. While Iceland (still scowling) separated the two pieces of meat, Denmark scooped some of the sugary potatoes onto them from the pan and grabbed the two slices of rye bread from the toaster. They set up the dining table as the Icelandic program from the living room rambled on in the background.

The two plates were set across from each other, complete with silverware, napkins, water, and a jar of homemade pickled red beets. The blonde sat anxiously as the other tasted the first bite of the fish, using his fork to stab a small portion of the flaky, tender, pink meat. He brought it up to his mouth and chewed it thoughtfully.

"How is it?" he queried.

He nodded, indicating that the dish was satisfactory. Swallowing, he looked Denmark in the eye. "It's not bad." The pair heard the flapping of wings, and a black blur shot into the kitchen. Iceland dropped his fork and cupped his hands out in front of him just in time to catch the puffin that darted into the kitchen, almost crashing into the table.

He crossed his arms and gave the bird a disapproving look after setting down the disheveled avian, at which it cocked his head. "Sorry, he gets excited when he smells salmon." Spearing another piece of the fish, he held it out for the bird on his fork. Its head darted forward, pulling it all off with his beak.

"Make sure you eat some food yourself- don't feed it all to that bird." he instructed, not wanting Iceland to get any thinner than he already was.

"Or what, you'll feed me yourself?" he scoffed, giving his pet some more of the salmon.

Grinning, he said teasingly, "If that's what you want, I have no problem following through with that."

That was enough to convince Iceland to hastily shove some of the potatoes down his throat.

The spent the rest of dinner making small talk about insignificant things, such as their governments or what was happening with the other Nordics. They played a game with Mr. Puffin where they would take turns flinging pieces of fish from a spoon to watch him catch it in the air as he squawked loudly, and by the time dinner was over, he had already flown off to bed.

Mathias picked up the dishes and silverware and stuck them in the sink. When he returned, he found Iceland standing around idly. "Do you have anything in mind to do?" questioned the older one.

Shaking his head, he said, "No, usually I go to sleep around this time." Looking at the clock on the wall, they both saw it was almost ten o'clock.

"Well, I don't want to be one to mess up your sleep schedule." he expressed, taking a step towards him. "Now seems like a good time to hop into bed."

Looking towards the floor, Iceland shrugged. "It's fine; we can just watch TV or something."

"No, I insist." Denmark put a hand on Iceland's shoulder, and before he could figure out what the nation was doing, the younger one was being held bridal style in the Dane's arms. "Time to go to bed!" he announced, carrying the thrashing male resisting his hold down the hall towards his bedroom.

"Denmark, put me down!" he shouted furiously, pounding on his chest and kicking his feet.

"Ha, you know what this reminds me of?" he reminisced. "When you were a kid and you were too scared of the dark to sleep by yourself, so you'd come out and try to stay up with Norway and I." He looked down at the glaring person trapped in his embrace, smiling cockily. "But we'd say no, and I'd have to carry you crying and screaming back to your room."

"Great brothers you two were." he pouted sarcastically, muttering it underneath his breath.

Pushing open the door cracked slightly with his back, he entered Iceland's bedroom. "Hey, you know we did it because we loved you. Our brothering talents were perfect." Mr. Puffin, who was preening his wings in a bed Iceland bought for him a while back, began cackling when he saw the situation his owner was in.

Iceland pointed an angry finger at him. "You shut up!" Still laughing, the bird flew out of the bedroom. Denmark swore he saw it wink at him.

Walking over to the bed, he dumped the younger nation on the chocolate brown duvet cover. He jumped on the spot next to him, the fluffy sheets poofing up around him as he landed facedown. He rolled over so he could be turned to face Iceland. The other was glaring at him for the stunt he pulled, cheeks brushed with red from what he assumed was excitement. The plan was going well so far.

"You enjoyed that and you know it." insisted the Dane.

"Was that really necessary?" he asked, scooting towards the pillows at the head of his four-poster bed.

"Sure wasn't!" he confessed shamelessly. Iceland rolled his eyes, lifting up the covers and crawling in underneath them. "You don't mind if I sleep over here tonight, do you?" questioned Denmark, knowing that Iceland wouldn't refuse his request.

"I already assumed you were going to. You can take the guest room down the hall." he divulged. "Good night." He made to reach for the switch on his side lamp, but was stopped by a hand.

"But we didn't get to snuggle yet!" whined the other.

"We aren't going to either, so get out!" He sat up and tried to shoo the pesky man out, but his hands were grabbed mid-air. Denmark slowly eased the wide eyed boy down until his head rested on the pillow.

"I'm not leaving until we do." he informed him stubbornly. He lay down and rested his head on the boy's chest, noting his quickened heartbeat. Still grasping the smaller hands within his own, he gently ran his thumb over their smooth palms. He leveled his head with the shy boy, who was looking at anything in the room that was not Denmark.

His eyes sought a connection with the fidgety violet ones, eyes trained on his face until the reluctant glance finally made it over. When he knew he had captured his attention, he placed one hand gently underneath Iceland's chin.

"Iceland…" He hesitated. He was sure he had prepared something more romantic than just saying his name, but when it came down to it, he forgot what it was. The boy was slightly trembling in his hands, and he felt it best not to keep him waiting. "Iceland," he repeated, "I-."

'_Is this the right time?'_ he wondered. '_Oh, what the hell, might as well go for it.'_ He dove in for the spur-of-the-moment kiss, his lips meeting the others in a warm embrace. Iceland didn't move for a while, shocked by his words, but soon joined him in the methodical movements their mouths were making. The younger one wrapped a thin arm around his waist, not having access to much mobility due to the weight of the taller one pinning him down.

Denmark's tongue slipped out of his mouth, attempting to enter Iceland's, who dropped his jaw just enough for it to go inside. They didn't do anything too intimate, just some lip-on-lip action with the occasional tongue. It went on for a couple of minutes, only ceasing when neither boy had the oxygen to continue.

They stopped, and Denmark eased off of him. "So," he began, regaining his breath. "I'll take that as a yes?" He looked expectantly towards the boy, who was obviously fighting off a smile.

"You're a sloppy kisser." he stammered, scarlet from the lack of air and embarrassment.

In self defense, he rebuked, "You can't complain; you didn't look like you were gonna say anything soon. Heh, also," He scratched his neck sheepishly. "I was under the impression you thought I was too much of an idiot to take seriously."

With a more pensive face, Iceland sat up. Sighing, he pulled his knees up to himself. "Have you ever heard the phrase 'taking something at face value'?"

Joining him, he slung a hand over his shoulder and tilted his tired head to rest on Iceland's shoulder. "Yeah. I don't see what that has to do with anything, though."

The silver-haired boy stared, unfocused, out the window, watching the stars as they sparkled into view. "It's wrong." he stated simply.

"What do you mean?" he inquired, giving him an uncertain look.

"I don't think that things are as forward as seeing everything as how they appear. Like you." He leaned back a little farther, allowing them both to get more comfortable on the shared pillow. "You're boisterous and headstrong, but you aren't necessarily foolish." His voice lowered to a more reserved volume, but Denmark didn't need to strain his ears to hear what came next. "I don't think you're that much of an idiot."

Even though he was already half-asleep, he still had the ability to make conscious decisions. "At least I know my boyfriend takes me seriously." he mumbled drowsily. He squeezed his hands in acknowledgement, and then relocated to the other pillow he haphazardly threw to the center of the bed. "Now, it's cuddling time." Grabbing Iceland's waist, he dragged him over with him.

Without saying a word, he willingly obliged. The two laid on their sides facing each other, sprawled out under the sheets. Iceland nudged Denmark's hand with his own and it was returned in a grasp, the two hands clinging to each other as the night wore on and they blissfully passed into the dream world together.

* * *

**I kind of want to make another chapter where Norway finds them...if I had more of an idea for it than just pissed off Norway (but I like that Norway).**


End file.
